


Settle Down

by jill_ian



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Fluff, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Light Angst, M/M, Minor Violence, POV Alternating, Seriously mostly fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-29
Updated: 2019-08-29
Packaged: 2020-07-25 22:10:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 19,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20033149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jill_ian/pseuds/jill_ian
Summary: Or five times Steve and Billy had to be discreet and one time they didn't.





	1. Chapter 1

If Billy had to guess, he would say it hadn’t taken long for everyone at Hawkins High to figure out that he wasn’t to be fucked with. One week at the most. Two for the few that were particularly stupid.

All it had taken was one idiot trying to welcome the new kid with an elbow to the ribs and an easy right hook on Billy’s part for the point to be made.

The idiot had been gifted a black eye and a bruised ego. Billy had been gifted a crown and a reputation.

It wasn’t that people avoided him after that; it was quite the contrary. The attitude attracted all types of people, all of them desperate and none of them interesting. It was more that if he happened to be walking down the hall, admirers in tow or not, the path in front of him would clear. Quickly.

It had been months since that first incident. The only incident. Or well, the only incident until today.

Billy wondered if maybe this kid hadn’t gotten the memo. He looked young, couldn’t have been older than a freshmen, small, too skinny for his own good. But kids were prone to stupid shit. They also had to learn the way the world worked.

This kid had been walking straight at him from halfway down the hall. He’d had more than enough time to get out of the way, even if he was walking with his head down like he needed to make sure his shoes hit every tile.

They collided with a smack that sent the kid stumbling back on his heels.

Billy knocked his books to the ground without a word, jaw set, eyes hard, locking immediately onto the other kid’s, which were wide with nerves by comparison. The kid only held eye contact for a second, blinking furiously before he bent down to pick up his books.

Certain he’d made himself understood, Billy decided to keep going, but he’d only gotten a few steps away when he heard the kid mumble, “Fuck you,” towards the floor.

Billy turned on his heel. He reached down and pulled the kid up by his collar, pushing him forward and pinning him against a locker, hands now fisted in the front of his shirt with a white-knuckled grip. Suddenly, the hall had gone eerily quiet, like everyone had stopped dead in their tracks and gone still. He could feel all the sets of eyes on him, on them, waiting with bated breath to see what he was going to do.

_Good,_ Billy thought. _Let them watch._

His voice was dangerously low in the now deafening silence. “You wanna say that again?” The kid shook his head furiously, the locker rattling behind him, ringing in Billy’s ears. His eyes were wide again and his breaths were shaky, hot on Billy’s face. “I didn’t hear you.”

“I didn’t say anything.” The words came out in a jumble, his voice cracking midway through the sentence. “I didn’t-I didn’t say anything.”

“Really? Because I could’ve sworn I heard you say-”

“No! I didn’t. I really didn’t. I swear.” The kid sounded frantic now.

“That’s what I thought.” Billy shoved him again for good measure, his shoulders hitting the locker with a solid, metallic pang.

It was when he went to leave again that he learned that apparently this kid’s mouth was always a little late to join the party.

The kid was still panting as he brushed his shirt down and whispered, “Asshole.”

Billy’s fist was in the air before he could even think twice about, connecting to this kid’s jaw with a loud crack and the hall exploded with noise around them. Most of which were cheers for him to keep going and so he did, hitting him square in the nose and then again under his eye.

He was poised to throw another punch when he felt a hand grab hold of his shoulder and another ball in the back of his shirt, trying to stop him.

“Billy.” The voice tugging on him was familiar, enough to make him hesitate. “Billy, it’s not worth it.” Still, he struggled against the hold, trying to surge forward again, but the voice persisted. “Billy, let’s go. This isn’t worth it.”

It only took another half a second of hesitation before he let himself be dragged out through the crowd, turning his head once to look back over his shoulder. Pride burned warm in his chest when he saw the kid crumble to the floor, blood gushing from his nose and face twisted tight with pain.

Next thing he knew, he was being pushed into a dark classroom, the door shutting behind him with a loud click.

He shrugged off the hands gripping at him with a violent jerk, ignoring the voice-Steve, it was Steve’s voice-that asked, “What the hell was that about?” as he walked further into the room. The question had almost been drowned out by the sound of the class bell ringing somewhere above their heads.

His chest was heaving when leaned back against the chalkboard and shut his eyes, too pissed off to care about the chalky, white streaks that were probably now smudged across the back of his shirt. He tipped his head back, trying to clear a path for air to find his lungs, but he felt like he couldn’t catch his breath, jaw clenched, breathing harsh and uneven, in and out through nose.

Steve’s footsteps were loud as they approached him, purposefully so, like he was warning him. He stopped somewhere in front of him, leaving what Billy could feel was a short gap between them, having learned that it was best not to crowd him at a time like this.

Steve’s voice was unthinkably soft when he spoke. “You have to breathe.”

Billy’s nostrils flared. “Fuck off.”

He didn’t flinch when he felt Steve’s hand on his chest, his shirt unbuttoned far enough to give way to smooth skin, Steve’s palm resting flat over his necklace.

His anger receded with an immediacy that never failed to both reassure and scare the shit out of him all at once.

He focused on the way Steve’s hand rose and fell with his chest, up and down, out and back, over and over and over, letting the sensation guide him until gradually his breathing slowed, evening with each exhale.

Billy didn’t know when his own hands had reached out to grab onto the front of Steve’s shirt, but he did know there was something grounding in it. In how soft the fabric was between his fingers. In the way he could feel Steve’s stomach beneath his knuckles. In how different it felt to hold onto Steve’s shirt as opposed to that kid’s out in the hall.

He opened his eyes, not surprised to find that Steve was already looking at him, brow knitted with concern, looking very much like he wanted to say something.

Billy swallowed hard, squaring his jaw. “Whatever it is you’re about to say, keep it to yourself.”

He hadn’t expected Steve to listen and wasn’t too surprised when he didn’t. “What was that about?” he asked, echoing his words from only a few minutes ago.

“Proving a point.”

“To a freshman?” Something in Steve’s tone caused guilt to pull uncomfortably in Billy’s gut, but he pushed it down, choosing not to answer. “Billy, you can’t-”

“Don’t.” Billy could tell Steve was gearing up to give him a lecture, but he wasn’t in the mood. He pulled Steve forward by his shirt, resting their foreheads together and closing his eyes again. “Just don’t.”

Steve sighed. They both knew that a month ago Billy would have pushed him out of the room for trying to talk about it, that he would've screamed and thrown a fit even though he knew deep down that Steve had a point. This was something like progress, even if it didn’t always seem that way.

“Okay.” Steve nodded against his forehead and for that Billy was grateful. He knew he was going to hear about it later, but for now, this was enough.

Steve’s hand moved from its place on his chest to curl around his necklace, tugging on it just slightly.

Billy knew what he was asking for, tilted his head and leaned forward, pressing his lips to Steve’s. Guilt and frustration replaced themselves with something Billy didn’t have a name for when Steve sighed against his lips, soft and content like they weren’t hiding in a Hawkins High classroom on a Tuesday morning because Billy had been in a fight, like there was nowhere he’d rather be than here with him right now.

Steve was in the process of angling to deepen the kiss when the sudden jiggle of the door handle rang through the room like a shot. Steve jumped back a safe few feet, stopping when the back of his legs hit a desk in the front row, his legs almost buckling beneath him at the contact. Billy adjusted his shirt, trying to make it less obvious that Steve’s hand had been in it less than a minute ago.

When the door finally opened, it gave way to a very annoyed looking math teacher that rolled her eyes the second she looked at Steve. “Mister Harrington.”

“Miss F.” Billy watched Steve run a nervous hand through his hair, a pained smile pulling at his lips.

She walked past them and dropped a thick folder on her desk. “I’ve got papers to grade and I _know_ you’ve got a class you should be in.”

“Funny enough, we were just leaving.” He started towards the door and Billy couldn’t think of anything else to do, so he followed. “See you next period!” He called over his shoulder, overcompensating for the awkward moment with a little too much enthusiasm.

Billy could’ve sworn he heard the woman groan as the door shut behind them.

He followed Steve through the empty halls all the way to his class even though he needed to be on the whole opposite side of the building. He was already at least ten minutes late, what were a few more?

They stopped a few lockers before Steve’s classroom, not wanting to be in direct view of the window. Billy was especially glad they’d stopped short when Steve took the opportunity to grab onto his necklace again, this time just holding it gently.

Steve’s eyes were darting between his as he prolonged the inevitable and Billy nodded in the direction of his class. “Go. I’ll see you at lunch.”

“Don’t beat the shit out of any more freshmen between now and then,” he said, tacking on a, “_please,_” for emphasis.

"You've got nothing to worry about, gorgeous." Billy held up three fingers with a charming smile. “Scout’s honor.”

Steve snorted. “You were never in the scouts.”

“Doesn’t matter,” he said with a playful roll of his eyes. He pushed easily at Steve’s shoulder. “Go.”

“Alright, alright. I’m going.” Steve let his necklace slip from his hand and watched it fall back into place in the middle of his chest.

Billy waited until he got to the door before he called out, “Oh, and Harrington?” Steve turned, looking at him expectantly. Billy smirked. “We’re finishing that later.”

The laugh Steve let out made Billy’s head spin. “Later.” And with that, he pulled the door open and quietly disappeared behind it.

Billy turned and headed off in the other direction, but not exactly in the direction of his class. He chose instead to go out the door at the end of the hall so that he could find his car at the edge of the parking lot. He sat on the hood while he lit a long-overdue cigarette, letting the sunlight warm his cheeks as best as it could.

It wasn’t strong, not like California sun that had the ability to turn his skin a raw shade of red in minutes if he wasn’t careful. This was Hawkins sun. It was weak and it was shitty, but it was the sun Steve lived under, too. That was worth something.

He closed his eyes.

Only 3 more periods until lunch.

He could make it that long.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really hope you liked it and watch out for part 2 coming soon!!
> 
> Title comes from "Settle Down" by the 1975 (which is a song that screams harringrove to me if you wanna hit that with a listen)
> 
> I'm over on tumblr @holdenduckfield


	2. Chapter 2

There were a few constants that Steve had grown accustom to every time he was on carpool duty with the Party.

The first was that Dustin rode shotgun. Always. Steve didn’t know if it had just been this unspoken thing because Dustin liked to attach himself to his hip or if Dustin had laid down the law himself that this was the way it was going to go, but Steve guessed that it really didn’t matter. After about a minute, it sounded like they were all chirping in his ear regardless of who ended up sitting where. Dustin’s voice just happened to be the loudest.

The second was that he only ever picked up the boys. Max got dropped off by Billy, which, for all intents and purposes, wasn’t for the lack of Steve offering. Whenever he asked Max about it, she’d give him a polite, “Thanks, Steve,” but shake her head. Whenever he asked Billy about it, he’d shrug it off and change the subject before Steve could argue. He learned to stop asking. As for El, if she got to hang around, it was Hopper that dropped her off and picked her up. Steve knew better than to try and get involved there, so he left it alone. No questions asked.

The third and final thing was that once all four of them were in the car, they would beg him to take them out to eat. And when he said beg, he meant it. It never took long for Dustin to start with a, “Steve, man, I’m starving,” and for Mike to chime in with a, “You know I heard the diner’s got these really awesome new fries,” and for Will to agree with a, “Yeah, yeah. I heard that, too” and for Lucas to throw in a, “You’d be the coolest ever if you just brought us there before we got to the arcade.”

Not once in all the months Steve had been carting them around had he said yes.

Normally, he would just brush them off with a, “Not a chance, dipshits. I got somewhere to be.” _Somewhere_ more often that not meaning _with Billy_, but it wasn’t like they knew that.

Sure, Billy had made up with the Party in his own way. He’d gone into the arcade with Max one day so that he could apologize for that night in the fall, made it obvious that most of his apology was being directed towards Lucas and left when they all muttered that they accepted it. But it wasn’t like they had accepted it with welcoming arms or an open invitation. All it meant was that there was a truce now.

Steve guessed it was better than nothing.

Still didn’t mean he wanted to buy them all food.

Today though, when Will hopped in the car last, making it an even four for the boys and therefore initiating Dustin’s begging, he had already been considering it.

He and Billy didn’t have plans until later that night. Billy wanted to go see that awful looking new _Friday the 13th_ movie. He’d batted his eyelashes so unfairly when he asked to go because it was no secret that Steve hated horror movies, but it was also no secret that the eyelash trick worked like a charm. Steve knew he was getting played, knew the eyelash trick was coming well before Billy pulled it out, but he let it happen anyway. He could think of worse things than sitting in the back row of a dark theatre and hiding his nose in Billy’s neck for two hours.

Other than that, he’d be spending his chilly Saturday pretty much alone. His parents had left town a couple days ago, not before shoving a fat wad of cash into his hand “_for food and anything else you might need while we’re gone, sweetheart_.” Words that kept him real warm while he sat on the couch all day, mindlessly clicking through TV channels without even the creak of the floor to keep him company.

On the other hand, he couldn’t complain too much about the nights they were gone. Nights used to be the worst part, the cold house so dark and quiet it made his skin crawl. He’d lie in bed with the covers pooled at his waist and stare up at the ceiling, that dull ache in his chest so hollow he thought it might swallow him whole.

But now, nights meant Billy would come keep him company. He’d knock on the front door with a cheeky grin and kiss Steve silly when it shut behind them. They’d order too much takeout and eat it sprawled out on the couch. They’d turn on some dumb TV movie and make out during the commercials. And the boring parts. And sometimes maybe even the good parts. They’d go upstairs when Billy whispered something filthy in his ear, the room suddenly fifteen degrees warmer and the kisses suddenly not so silly anymore. Steve would fall asleep with Billy’s hair tickling his face and Billy would slip out before the sun came back up.

They’d do it all over again the next night.

It helped. Helped Steve forget and helped him feel like he wasn’t so forgotten, but nothing could help the sting that clawed its way back up his chest once Billy was gone and he remembered that fat ball of cash.

That same fat ball of cash that was in his pocket right now. Just sitting there. Heavy. Itching to be spent. Wasted.

So today, when Will shut the door and Dustin started his nonsense, all, “Steve, I might die if I don’t eat at least a pancake,” Steve spoke before Mike could even think about adding in the next comment.

“Okay,” he nodded. “Wanna go get something?”

The silence was almost comical. He never took his eyes off the road, but he could tell that all their jaws had dropped, like they were all having one collective thought of, _Holy shit. We finally got him._

He watched Dustin’s eyes go wide in his peripheral vision, sputtering, “Wha-what? Wait. What?”

“I could eat,” he shrugged, nonchalant in spite of the four adolescent brains that were all simultaneously exploding around him. Dustin stared at him, boring a hole into side of his head, dumbfounded, and Steve let out a huff of laugh. “Look, do you want me to stop at the diner or not because if you don’t answer in the next three seconds I’m gonna-”

The car exploded with cheers and a chorus of, “Yeah!” and, “Hell yeah!” and, “God bless you, Steve Harrington!” All of which made him laugh. Especially because he had no idea who said that last one, but he had the funny feeling it was Lucas.

They all but jumped out of the car when he parked, running up the front steps of the diner and shoving their way through the door. The waitress sat them in a large booth near the back, Will, Mike, and Lucas on one side, Dustin and Steve on the other. Because they’d been so eager to sit and Steve had been somewhat lagging behind, he ended up on the outside with Dustin closer to the wall, which he hated, but it wasn’t like he was going to admit that out loud to a group of middle schoolers.

They’d hardly made it past the initial spitball fight that came after opening their straws when Steve heard the roar of the Camaro’s engine and saw Max’s fiery red hair outside the window. For a second, he wondered if they’d all been so confident in their ability to make him crack that they’d told her to meet them there. Maybe she’d gone to the arcade first and figured this was the only other place they’d be when they weren’t there. Both scenarios were just as likely.

He expected to hear the Camaro rev again, to hear Billy speed away, but no such sound ever came. Billy hadn’t gone anywhere and Steve focused his eyes more clearly on whatever was going on outside. Max had gone over to the driver’s side and motioned for him to roll down the window, which he gave in and did after a long few seconds.

Steve furrowed his brow when Billy rolled the window back up, turned the engine off, and got out of the car. He watched him light and puff on a cigarette with a scowl, avoiding Max’s eyes while she spoke. Every so often he’d work in some sort of comment, but Max was definitely doing more of the talking, almost like she was trying to convince him of something.

Steve’s heart leapt into his throat when Billy looked in through the window and caught his eyes. Something in his gaze softened as Max continued to chirp at his side, but it was clear to Steve that he wasn’t really listening anymore. His heart climbed even further when Billy nodded, flicking the cigarette to the ground and crushing it under his heel. Max was smiling when she grabbed his hand and pulled him with her, away from the car.

Steve bit back a smile of his own when he realized Billy wasn’t trying to pull away, that instead he was letting her drag him in through the door and over towards their table.

He ignored the, “What does she think she’s doing?” that Dustin let out next to him, resting the urge to reach out smack his hat down over his eyes.

Lucas stood from his spot on the end to free up the seat next to Mike. He walked over to an empty table and stole a chair, placing it at the head of the table and sitting down. Any other day, Steve would’ve given him a nod and a big thumbs up for keeping chivalry alive. At the moment, he was too busy taking in the glares they were all looking Billy up and down with now that he and Max were within spitting distance.

“Morning, children,” Max beamed, looking at the boys and then at Steve. “Mother Goose.”

Steve threw her a tight-lipped smile and a lazy salute as she took the now vacant seat next to Mike.

“What the hell is he doing here?” Mike asked, eyes on Billy, something in his tone giving off that he was offended.

“_Sitting_,” she said, both as an answer to the question and a hint to Billy, eyeing the open space next to Steve, silently gesturing for him to take it. He hesitated, but did so anyway. Steve bit the inside of his cheek when Billy let his legs splay wide, pressing their thighs snug together. As if the booth wasn’t already tight enough.

“Why?” Mike pushed.

“Because I said so.”

“But he wasn’t invited.”

She scoffed. “Isn’t it a little early to be starting with that?”

“No,” he argued. “This was supposed to be ‘Party Members Only’.”

“One, that wasn’t established when we made the plan.“ _I knew it_, Steve thought “And two, don’t be a dick just because your girlfriend wasn’t allowed to come.”

Mike huffed as he crossed his arms on the table. It was Dustin that piped up next.

“You could’ve at least warned us.”

“Warned you?” Max’s eyes widened, locking on Dustin.

“Yeah. I mean, we have a channel open for a reason.”

“We have a channel open so that you can all tell scary stories and piss your pants before you go to sleep,” she snapped and Steve had to bring his hand up to his face to stifle a laugh. “Since when does my brother need a warning?”

“Since he’s an asshole.”

It was obvious that she was annoyed, saying, “Oh grow up already,” but Billy laughed openly off to Steve’s side.

“Always a pleasure, Curly Q.”

Dustin leaned forward to glare at him down the booth. “Original. Really. Never heard that one before. Ever,” he said, dry and unimpressed, but Billy didn’t bat an eyelash.

“I don’t care.”

Dustin’s eyes narrowed. “You know, you could at least ask Steve if you can stay. Since he’s the one that’s paying.”

“I’m paying?” Steve cut in, teasing. “Who said I’m paying?”

“We’ve only got twenty bucks in quarters between the four of us-“

“Five,” Will corrected.

“The five of us,” Dustin amended. “You knew you were paying.” And Steve really couldn’t argue with that, even as a joke, so he didn’t. Dustin turned his focus back to Billy. “Are you gonna ask him or what?”

“Jesus,” Billy mumbled under his breath, but he let his gaze shift to Steve anyway, properly looking him in the eyes for the first time since he’d sat down and something coiled warm in Steve’s chest. “Is it alright with you if I stay, pretty boy?” His voice was low, deep, the way it got sometimes when they were alone and Steve swallowed around the lump that had grown in his throat, determined not to get flustered in front of all the brats.

“Yeah, yeah. You’re fine,” he said, grateful as all hell that he was able to keep his tone casual, voice even.

Billy’s eyes lingered in Steve’s before he looked back at Dustin, smug. “See?”

Somewhere on the other side of the table, Mike coughed, too loud and too obvious. He never did take well with being ignored.

Billy turned to the rest of the table, giving Mike a particularly hard look. “Parasites. Nice to see you, too.”

After that, it didn’t take long for the initial hostility to die down and for things to go back to normal. Well, their normal. Lucas had been quick to jump on the awkward silence, had switched the topic over to the movie they had all watched at Mike’s the night before, only pausing long enough to order when the waitress came back.

They were midway through arguing whether or not the shark in _Jaws_ was actually lifelike enough to qualify it as a horror movie when Steve had to hold in a gasp, having nothing to do with the movie and everything to do with the fact that Billy's hand was now on his knee.

Up until that point, Billy had been the perfect picture of nonchalance, one hand in his lap and his other elbow resting on the table, fist pillowing his cheek. He feigned indifference to their discussion, mouth a thin line and eyes half lidded like he could fall asleep at any given moment. Steve had found the whole display pretty amusing considering he knew how much Billy actually hated_ Jaws. _How clearly he could still hear the echoes of, “_One movie and now everybody’s all afraid of the ocean. That’s fuckin’ dumb if you ask me_.”

But who could think about sharks when Billy was rubbing soft circles through his jeans with his thumb. When the pads of Billy’s fingers were scratching at his skin through denim in a way that sent a spark up his spine. When he wasn’t allowed to touch back.

He couldn’t. Couldn’t put his hand under the table and tangle their fingers together like he was aching to. Not without one of them noticing.

It was pure impulse that had him inching his foot closer to Billy’s. Still impulse that had him knocking their feet together, needing to touch him in some way, any way. Wanting to let him know that he was onto the game he was playing. It was only a second later that he got a kick back and if he looked out of the corner of his eye, he could see that Billy’s lips had pulled up into a tiny, imperceptible smile. Knots tangled pleasantly in Steve’s stomach as he kicked him again and back and forth and back again.

God, he felt like he was in middle school. Playing footsie under the table with some girl he’d had a crush on for weeks, giddy and bashful and trying to keep his face from showing just how tickled fucking pink he was.

If you would’ve have told him six months ago that he’d be feeling like this because of Billy Hargrove, he would’ve laughed in your face, loud and long and so utterly amused that he might’ve fallen off his chair.

And then everything changed. He still laughed, often, loud, and long. But not at this. Not at the idea of being smitten with Billy Hargrove.

Not anymore.

He was sort of grateful when the food came out. It forced Billy to take his hand away and forced Steve to focus on, well, eating. But even that didn’t last very long. Food never did around six teenage boys, not to mention the fact that Max could more than hold her own against them.

Steve was just about polishing off his burger when Billy dropped his fork down on his empty plate, having eaten five pancakes in what could only described as a record time. He wondered if Billy’s lips tasted like syrup the way they had a few days ago, when Billy actually stayed through the morning and made them breakfast, all smiles and soft sunlight.

The thought was broken when Billy stole a fry off his plate, laughing when it earned him a playful elbow in the side.

He went in for another, but dodged the subsequent nudge by sitting back all the way in his seat. Steve almost choked on his burger when Billy stretched his arm along the back of the booth behind him. Tried not to think of how close Billy was to having his arm around him. Tried not to think about how easy it would be to lean back and tuck into his side like he’d done so many times before.

All of which meant he was too distracted to smack Billy’s hand away when he reached in again for more fries.

And if he sat all the way back in his seat when he was done eating, the smooth line of Billy’s arm just barely brushing the back of his neck, no one needed to know why.

Lucas was finishing up his milkshake and the waitress was clearing up the plates around them when she dropped off the check. Steve was quick to grab it before anyone else could get a look, ignoring the pointed looks Billy threw him, as well as his attempts to snatch the thin piece of paper from his hand. He left a nice tip on the table when they emptied the booth and brought the check up to the front to pay.

Something like satisfaction spread through him like wildfire when he heard the cash register ding and realized that stupid ball of cash wasn’t sitting in his pocket quite so heavily anymore.

Once he was done, they all piled into their respective vehicles and headed over to the arcade, Steve trying his best to keep up with Billy as he followed him there. He parked behind him and the boys all hopped out of the car to meet Max and hurry inside before their favorite games got taken.

Steve waited for Billy to move, fully intending to follow him back out of the parking lot, but, for the second time today, he heard the Camaro’s engine die. He found himself confused when Billy got out of his car, swaggering over towards him and knocking on the driver’s side window once he was within arms length. Steve rolled it down with a jerky, haphazard movement because the piece of shit always had a way of getting stuck in exactly the same spot every single time.

Billy ducked down, letting his sunglasses slide down his nose and looking at Steve over the rim, hands gripping at the rubber window trim, hip cocked to one side.

“Whatever you’re selling, I’m not buying,” Steve teased.

“You can’t afford me,” he said, not missing a beat, rolling his eyes in such a way that Steve could tell it was out of fondness rather than annoyance. “It’s funny because I’d ask, but I already know you’re not gonna let me pay you back, right?”

“For what?”

“The food, asshole.”

“Oh that.” Steve paused, almost as though he was considering it. “You’re right, no shot,” he agreed and Billy tilted his head, fixing him with a disapproving look, lips pursed tight. “But I mean, you know what you _could_ do?

“No, but I get the feeling you’re gonna tell me.”

“Pay for my movie ticket later.”

Billy lips quirked up into something like a smirk. “We goin’ on a date, Harrington?” His voice was low again, that way it’d gotten when they first talked back in the diner and Steve’s eyes flashed reflexively to his mouth, jumping back up.

“Better be. That’s why I said yes to that stupid movie in the first place.”

“Fair enough,” Billy laughed, a sound so sweet and rare Steve thought he could get drunk on it. “Then I’ll, uh, pick you up around seven?”

Steve’s breath caught in his throat. “Pick me up?”

“Well, yeah.” Billy’s gaze dropped to his lips then, focused in a way that usually meant he was about to get kissed. “You know. The way you do when you’re takin’ somebody out on a date.”

Steve bit his lip, trying to hold back the wide grin that was threatening to take over his face. “Nobody would believe it if they heard you had like, real manners.”

“Looks like you’ll just have to keep that nasty little rumor all to yourself then.” Billy’s eyes drifted back up, Steve’s vision now fixed on that steely shade of blue. “See you at seven?”

"Seven," he nodded, loving the way it made Billy’s smile go that much wider. “But if you don’t bring me flowers, the whole thing's off.”

Billy just winked, pushing his glasses back up his nose and heading back towards his Camaro.

If Steve took a second to stare at his ass while he walked away, Billy didn’t need to know.

And if Dustin had his nose pressed to the window, hands cupped around his curious eyes to get a better look at the whole exchange, well, they didn’t need to know either.


	3. Chapter 3

When Billy stumbled into his room, he was dizzy, disoriented. Head swimming. Vision clouded.

He carried himself on shaking legs, weak beneath him, just barely able to get him there.

He shut the door behind him with a soft click, hardly audible to his own ears, not the slam he’d been intending. Craving. His arms couldn’t power it. Lifting them in the first place had been enough to elicit a wince that made his face twist.

He closed his eyes, put one hand on the wall, let it stabilize him. Let it guide him over to his vanity in the opposite corner of the room. His poor, little makeshift vanity. Three old crates, stacked, topped with hair products and cologne in front of a thin mirror. It barely ever got enough light for him to see his whole reflection.

But he was used to that now. Used to looking for himself through darkness. Used to a reflection masked with shadows. Hidden. Tainted.

Hands now braced on the top crate, shoulders hunched forward, weight distributed evenly between his feet, he opened his eyes. The sudden intrusion of light from the lamp nearby was so harsh it made his head pound, tight with pressure, heartbeat loud between his ears.

It was a long second before he could focus on his dim reflection.

The first thing he noticed were the round marks littering his neck, maroon fingerprints that would bloom dark purple overnight. He swallowed hard, testing, eyes locked on the movement of his throat, content and slightly relieved when it brought no additional pain.

The cut above his eyebrow had stopped bleeding, long after it had dripped down his cheek, just barely missing his eye. He reached for a tissue to get rid of the blood, hissing through gritted teeth when it pulled uncomfortably on the cut, threatening to reopen. He let it fall to the floor when he’d had enough, resigned to the fact that he’d just get whatever he missed when he showered in the morning before school.

_School._

He held his breath and stood up straight, eyebrows pinched high, lips parted, the pain splintering in his side so bad he almost couldn’t stand tall. Almost. But his breaths were shallow once he got there, raspy and short, the same way they got during sprints at practice.

_Practice._

He couldn’t practice like this. He could barely stand on his own two feet, never mind running down a court. Risking a shove. Or an elbow to the ribs. He’d find some way to get a detention so that he could get out of it. He’d run his mouth in class, maybe start a fight with a nobody for no good reason. He’d do anything to avoid having to go anywhere near a basketball for a few days.

He pulled the bottom of his shirt free from where it was tucked into his jeans, hands finding the buttons, grateful in retrospect that he hadn’t done past two this morning to begin with. Even then, he struggled as they slipped from his fingers, unsteady and frustrated. He let the shirt fall from his shoulders once it was loose, fabric landing in a soft puddle at his feet.

Unlike his neck, the bruises scattered along his torso were already screaming shades of black and blue, dark and angry. He knew there would be matching ones on his back, but he couldn’t bring himself to turn and examine them.

He could still hear the snap of his ribs as he hit the corner of the table. The thud of his back hitting the wall. Feel the phantom hand on his middle, the other on his throat, holding him there. Still.

He blinked back the sudden tears burning in his eyes, bright red ringing blue irises, usually so vibrant, now dull and lifeless looking back at him. The few that did spill over were white hot on his cheeks and he wiped at them with the back of his hand, sniffling loud, willing them away.

He reached out to click off the lamp and limped over to his bed, not bothering to find a new shirt or wrestle out of his jeans. None of it was worth the effort. Putting his head on his pillow and pulling the sheets up to his waist felt like something of a victory. That was, until he tried to take a deep breath in and had to cut it short when a sharp jolt shot somewhere behind his ribcage. Maybe it was more of a surrender.

It was then that he realized sleep wasn’t going to come as easily as he wanted. Needed. Needed it to take him away. To distract him from the pain. From the last hour. But clearly, the universe wasn’t in his favor.

His turned his head to one side, flicked his eyes towards the clock.

10:39.

He stared at it, unmoving, focusing his attention on the numbers every so often.

11:17.

12:34.

1:28.

2:47.

He lay idle as the time passed by. Every time he was on the edge of falling asleep, it seemed like the floor would creak. He’d hear the soft pad of footsteps walking down the hall. Or a sudden cough. He had no way of telling if any of the sounds were real from where he was laying, too tired to move or check, but the way his chest tightened with something like panic was as real as anything and that was enough.

He let out a frustrated growl, turning over onto his stomach and burying his face in the pillow. Maybe if he laid there with his eyes closed for long enough, he’d fall asleep by accident.

_Tap. Tap. Tap._

He rolled over, wincing at the noise coming from the window by his bed before his eyes went naturally to the clock.

3:23.

He hesitated, waited for the noise to keep going, but was met with silence, so he closed his eyes. It was probably just a bird or something. It would go away.

_Tap. Tap. Tap._

He cracked one eye open.

3:26.

Silence.

He contemplated rolling back over when he heard it again.

_Tap. Tap. Tap._

This time, followed closely by a hushed, _“Psst. Billy. Open up.”_

He sat up as quickly as his poor body would allow, kicking the sheets down the bed, feet finding the floor, scrambling towards the window.

Because standing there, out in the cold in the middle of the night, window as high as his chest, was Steve.

Billy’s jaw dropped, but his hands were lifting the window open before he could think any better of it.

“Harrington?” he whispered, as confused as he was shocked, hands holding onto the windowsill.

“Morning, sunshine.” Steve’s smile was beaming bright up at him, illuminated by the streetlights outside. It was that quickly that Billy realized Steve couldn’t see him through the darkness of his room, knew he wouldn’t be smiling if he could see what he looked like. Billy couldn’t even pretend to return the expression.

“What the fuck?”

“Glad to see you, too. Shove over.” Steve smacked at his hands, but his grip tightened on the windowsill.

“What are you doing?”

“What does it look like I’m doing?” Billy didn’t answer, in no mood to play this game. Steve sighed. “I can’t sleep, alright? Scoot.”

“No. You can’t be here,” he said, stern, voice unwavering despite the way he felt like he could drop at any given moment.

“It’s a free country.”

“And I have the right to tell you to leave. So get lost.”

“Very cute. I’m feeling very threatened,” Steve said, patting one of Billy’s hands, patronizing, but Billy’s stomach began to sink. “Now let me in.”

“No.” He shook Steve’s hand off. “I’m gonna close the window and you’re gonna go home. So just back up and I’ll-”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

Billy huffed, frustrated, and he could feel his heart rate pick up, but not in the usual way it did when Steve was around. “Do you have some sort of death wish I don’t know about?”

“Okay, it _really_ isn’t that big a deal. I mean, flatter yourself all you want, but this isn’t the first window I’ve ever knocked on,” he teased, smile crooked. “Besides, you sneak in my house all the time.”

“That’s different,” he deadpanned. Steve laughed. “I’m not joking.”

“And I’m not leaving,” he shrugged, an easy, thoughtless gesture.

Billy squeezed his eyes shut tight, pushed down the wave of anger that threatened to wash over him at any second. His mind ran through about a hundred different options all at once, most of them telling him shut the window and walk away, but he’d never been good at impulse control.

“Fine. Fuck. Fine. Just-just hold on.” He pushed Steve’s hands off the window. “Move over.”

Steve’s eyes brightened like he’d won, smile widening, cocky and sure as he moved aside. Billy held his breath and sat on the windowsill, ducking beneath the window, swinging his legs over the side and out.

The short drop to the ground made his head spin like the Earth was going to slip out from under his feet. He fell sideways into Steve, who reached out to catch him with a casual arm around the waist, keeping him upright, the material of his jacket scratching at Billy’s skin.

“Easy there, hot stuff,” he chuckled, but Billy was panting, hand fisting Steve’s shirt in a hold so tight he thought it might rip.

Billy said nothing and for a solid minute, the only sound in the air was the labored wheeze of his breathing, visible against the frigid night sky. Steve’s smile faded slowly, blinking hard and helpless as Billy released his shirt and stepped to lean with his back against the house.

His face twisted with pain when the edge of the siding pushed against one of the bruises on his shoulder and a low whine clawed its way out of the back of his throat. Steve took a quick, panicked step towards him, hands out like he was reaching to steady him again.

“Hey, hey. What’s wrong? Why’re you-” He stopped the moment Billy stood tall, torso long, exposed, stripped bare, rippling with goose bumps from the cold. Steve’s gaze drifted down. “Holy shit,” he gasped, like he hadn’t meant to say it.

Billy hugged his arms around his middle, instinctive, trying to hide, sink in on himself. “S’nothing.”

“Nothing?” Steve’s hands went to his wrists, gingerly pulling his arms away. Billy was too weak to resist, his attempt to stop him halfhearted at best. Steve’s eyes were razor sharp as they raked up and down his body, more serious than Billy had ever seen them. “You need a doctor.”

“I don’t need anybody,” Billy snapped, pulling out of Steve’s grip. “Go home.”

“No. You have to tell me what happened.”

He shrugged. “Nothing happened. I got them at practice.”

“Bullshit.”

“Okay. I fell,” he lied, continuing despite the way Steve already shaking his head. “Tripped the front steps.”

“No you didn’t.”

“I _fell_,” he repeated, weak even to his own ears, desperate.

He opened his mouth to keep going, to cover his tracks, but went still when Steve’s hands came up to rest on either side of his neck, fingers just barely touching his skin, touch ghosting over the bruises. Tender. Careful. So warm that Billy wanted to melt into it.

The next few words fell slowly from Steve’s lips. “You don’t get these tripping up the front steps.”

His eyes fell to a spot on Steve’s chest. He felt his nose twitch, a nervous habit that flared up every so often, felt his arms wrap around his stomach again, wishing he could disappear, evaporate, but knowing Steve deserved better than to be lied to. That he deserved to hear the truth.

It came out in a whisper, cheeks burning with shame. “I brought her home too late. Max. Told my dad I’d have her back by 9:30, but I got caught up at the record store. Didn’t notice how late it was until they started closing up.”

“And your dad? He-” Billy nodded emphatically, cutting him off, not wanting Steve of all people to say it out loud, but Steve’s eyebrows were drawn tight with concern as it all clicked in his head. “Oh, Jesus Christ, Billy,” he said, voice growing louder with every word. “You said he knocked you around. You never said-”

Billy all but clamped his hand over Steve’s mouth, heart racing.

“Keep your voice down,” he hissed. “Do you want a matching set or what?”

Steve shook his head and Billy pulled his hand away, let it slide to the nape of Steve’s neck, tangling his fingers in the long hairs there, keeping him close despite the outburst.

Steve’s eyes were so wide and earnest in his that Billy thought his heart was going to split in his chest. “I had no idea.”

“Well now you do,” he replied, curt. “So can you go?”

“What?” Steve’s voice had pitched up, obviously offended by the notion. “That’s it? I’m supposed to just see all of this and go home?”

“You weren’t _supposed_ to see anything,” he mumbled and the way Steve’s nostrils flared told him that was the wrong thing to say.

“That’s not the point,” he shot back, recoiling immediately when it made Billy flinch, blinking the fire out of his eyes. “I’m just so sor-”

“Say you’re sorry and you won’t like what happens next,” Billy spat, warning.

He watched as Steve’s mind spun in front of him, clenching and unclenching his jaw, lips twitching like he was rolling potential words around on his tongue until finally he admitted it.

“I don’t know what else to say.”

“So don’t say anything.”

And so he didn’t.

Steve’s eyes left his in favor of looking towards his hands, towards Billy’s neck, and the longer he looked, the deeper his frown grew, set deep in his features. He let his thumb hover over the marks, tracing them up and down, like he was trying to memorize them. Or like he was trying to wipe them away.

Billy just stood there and let him, ignoring every impulse in his body screaming for him to _run, run, run_. He planted his feet. Stayed, patient and curious, hardly even daring to breathe in the heavy silence that had fallen over them. Maybe even tilted his head back to make it easier for Steve to see. Touch.

And then Steve leaned forward. He moved slowly, like if Billy wanted to move or push him away, he could. But he didn’t and Steve ducked his head, breath warm on his skin as he pressed his lips to his neck, replacing his gentle hands. Billy couldn’t help a gasp as his eyes fluttered shut, the sensation so different than everything else he’d felt tonight that he wanted to bottle it up. Save it for later. Live in it. Drown in it.

Steve’s lips were unspeakably soft, smooth, kissing up and down the column of his throat, paying careful attention to where Billy knew those fingerprints were staining his skin. Burgundy like bitter wine. He tugged on Steve’s hair, pleased when he understood the cue and stepped closer, hands on the house, framing either side of his head, a knee now slotted between his.

“Fuck,” Billy groaned, low and breathy, but the sound of his own voice brought him back to reality and his eyes shot open. “Fuck,” he repeated, this time more urgent, heart pounding. “You can’t do that.” He pushed Steve off with his free hand. “You can’t be here. You really can’t be here.”

Again, Steve had already been shaking his head before he’d finished talking. “I’m not leaving you here like this.”

Billy felt frantic now, like he could feel like blood running hot in his veins, stomach in knots so tight he thought he might collapse. “I’m not asking, Harrington. I’m telling you. Go.”

“But I-”

“Steve. Please.” Steve’s mouth snapped shut. Billy felt like his entire body was trembling. “_Please._ You need to get out of here. I can’t, y-you can’t, I’m-”

“Billy, you’re shaking.” Steve’s hands went to his cheeks in an attempt to ground him, get him to focus. “You need to calm down. Let me-”

“No. You have to go. Get in your car and go.” His eyes were brimming with tears again and his voice was watery, foreign to his own ears.

“I don’t want to.”

“I don’t care.” He was openly begging now, felt like he was choking on the words. “Please, Steve.”

Steve went quiet as he thumbed at the fat tear that had slipped free from Billy’s eyes, finally looking like he understood the severity and the urgency of the situation.

“Okay,” he nodded, slow. “I’ll go, but just, promise me you’ll call if you need anything? Like, really promise?”

“I promise.” And Billy held his eyes, letting Steve know that he wasn’t just putting him on, but that he meant it.

“I’ll see you at school?” Steve asked, hopeful.

The corners of his lips then quirked up the tiniest bit, like he was trying for a smile, but it came out more like a grimace, an unnatural and disconcerting expression on someone as effortlessly charming as Steve. Any other time, Billy might have laughed.

“Yeah, I’ll be there,” he said instead, and from the look on his face, he could tell Steve didn’t quite believe him. So Billy hooked a finger in his belt loop and pulled him forward, kissing him softly, holding him there until he felt Steve relax against him, whispering, “I’ll be there,” again, this time against his lips.

Steve nodded against his forehead, leaning in for one more quick kiss before he took a step back.

Billy watched as he walked away, slow and unsure. Hesitant. His heart skipped a beat when Steve stopped to look over his shoulder, almost like he was playing around with the idea of coming back. But ultimately, he stuffed his hands in his pockets and continued forward until Billy couldn’t see him anymore.

Billy only let himself sag against the house when he heard the low hum of Steve’s BMW from where it was parked a few houses away. Only hoisted himself back up through the window and into his room when he knew for sure that Steve had driven away. It had taken a few tries, six or seven if he had to put a number to it, but he was too grateful he’d had strength to get up and over the windowsill in the first place to be too pissed off about it.

He fell heavily against the mattress, paying no mind to the way his body ached because of it. It was going to ache anyway. What was a little more?

He pushed his face into his pillow, begging for sleep to pull him in, replaying the entire night behind his eyes for God knows how long. Over and over and over again.

Steve Harrington was so stupid. Only Billy would fall for somebody that had more guts than brains. Somebody that would sneak over to his house in the middle of the night when he had no idea what kind of fresh hell would be unleashed if they ever got caught.

Steve Harrington was so goddamn stupid.

But he was also sort of wonderful.

And Billy wasn’t sure he’d ever been so monumentally fucked in his whole life.


	4. Chapter 4

Billy wasn’t really the type for big romantic gestures. Steve knew that.

He knew the mixed up, messed up ways in which Billy had grown accustom to showing his feelings. The mixed up, messed up ways in which he’d grown accustom to receiving them.

And so he knew that with someone like Billy, genuine displays of emotion were never going to be shouted. Not in the way Steve, more often than not, tended to shout them.

No. With someone like Billy, they were going to be whispered. Hushed. Hidden.

In the pull of the lips smiling back at him after a kiss. In the press of the hip against his as they walked side by side down the hall. In the cigarette he’d be offered when they cut class in favor of sitting on the hood of the Camaro. In the hand that reached out to push the hair back from his forehead while they were doing homework at his kitchen table. In the same hand that balled into a fist if anyone so much as looked at them the wrong way. In the bag of Reese’s Pieces that were always bought for him at the movies because he let it slip once that they were his favorite. In the cool blue of the half lidded eyes looking back at him when they’d wake up in the morning, tangled together, sleep warm and oblivious to the world beyond his bedroom.

And apparently, in a small bottle of black nail polish.

He hadn’t jumped when he felt Billy’s hand slip into his back pocket. He used to, jump that is, when they first got together. Billy’s touch electric and intoxicating and so painfully difficult to ignore when they were out in public.

No, he played it cool when Billy did it today, when he slipped his hand into the back pocket of his jeans as they walked to their next class. Just bit the inside of his cheek with a well-practiced ease. Kept his face perfectly even. Felt that warmth spread low in his stomach when Billy let his hand linger a few seconds longer than he normally did. Tried not to feel too disappointed when Billy took his hand away and ducked into his classroom with a casual, “Later.”

Steve _did jump_, however, when he finally got to his own class and sat down at his desk. When he felt something stab him in the ass like somebody from the class before had left something on the seat. Jumped right out of his chair. He hesitated for a second, took a quick glance around the room, thankful nobody had turned to look as he shot up, that he hadn’t completely embarrassed himself.

His eyes widened when he looked down and there was nothing on the chair, hand flying to the back of his pants to make sure nothing was sticking out of him, like a pencil or maybe a tack. But it wasn’t anything sharp that caught his attention.

It was the hard line of something in his back pocket. The same pocket Billy’s hand had been in less than three minutes ago.

His brow furrowed when he reached into it and closed his hand around what felt like a tiny bottle. Still had his hand clasped tight around it when he sat back down, mouth a thin line and eyebrows pinched tight.

He crossed his arms across his chest, waited for the teacher to turn out the lights and start the lesson on the overhead before he ducked his head and uncurled his hand.

His frown broadened when his eyes locked onto the tiny bottle of black nail polish pillowed in his palm.

Confusion was the first emotion that hit him, hard and fast. Not fully understanding why Billy, of all people, would give him a bottle of nail polish, of all things. But confusion faded quickly into curiosity, knowing Billy never really did anything without a reason.

There had to be a reason behind something this random. It had to be deliberate.

He hid the bottle in the front pocket of his backpack, positioned it so it wasn’t in a place where it would break.

And then spent the rest of the day trying not to think about it. Trying not to figure out what it was for. Trying not to get frustrated when he couldn’t.

Steve brought the bottle with him when they met up at the quarry later that night, made sure to stuff it in his jacket pocket before he rushed out of the house. He got out of his car and walked over towards Billy. To where he was sat on the hood of his Camaro, a thin silhouette in the dark, pulling a lazy cigarette out from between his smiling lips.

“Fancy seeing you here,” he said, looking Steve up and down as he stopped in front of the car.

“Really?” He took an easy step forward when Billy reached out and tugged at his collar with his free hand, spreading his legs so Steve could stand between them. “‘Cause I could’ve sworn the note in my locker said to meet you at the quarry at eight.”

“Oh?” Billy snuck his hand beneath Steve’s jacket, fingers wide and warm on his side, teasing. “Somebody left you a note?”

“Yeah. _You_, you jackass.” His hands went to Billy’s thighs, warm, snug around his hips.

“You don’t know that it was from me,” Billy replied with an easy shake of his head, eyes watching Steve’s mouth.

“Yeah, I do.” Steve poked his tongue out to wet his lower lip, nodding, his own gaze dropping to look at Billy’s mouth. “And I can prove it, too.”

“Yeah? How’s that?” Billy challenged, voice low in a way that pulled pleasantly in Steve’s chest.

“Easy.” He leaned forward, until his breath was just ghosting over Billy’s mouth, waited a long second before saying, “You’ve got the ugliest goddamn handwriting I’ve ever seen.”

“Fuck you.”

“You should be so lucky.”

Billy was laughing when he closed the distance and kissed him, effectively shutting him up, knocking the wind out of his lungs. Steve’s hands travelled up the line of his thighs, fingers scratching denim, and settled on hips, instinctive. Billy groaned, deepening the kiss with an easy, perfect tilt of his head, licking into his mouth so slowly, sensually, that it made Steve’s head spin.

It made him wish they were in the back of the Camaro or stretched across the sheets of his bed. Wanted to lay Billy back and lose track of time. To forget anything existed but the press of Billy against him and the sound of his moans.

They separated with a soft smack when they ran out of air, breathing heavily, Steve’s cheeks hot like they were on fire, Billy’s blue eyes still cast low.

“Glad you could make it, gorgeous,” he said, breath warm against his face.

“Always do, don’t I?” Steve smiled, sort of bashful.

He made to take a step backwards, but Billy hooked his ankles behind his calves, held him in place.

“You got somewhere to be?” he asked, sneaking his hand under the hem of Steve’s shirt.

“No, I just uh-” He flinched as Billy began to trail his fingers up and down the sensitive skin of his side, trying not to laugh. “Quit it, will you? I wanna ask you something.”

Billy had a devilish smile shaping his pink lips. “What? You ticklish, Harrington?”

“Yeah. I mean, I’ve only told you about a thousand times, so how about you-” He yelped when Billy’s finger dug into his side. “_Stop it_,” he whined, childish and desperate, laughing loud despite himself.

“Alright, alright,” Billy said around a chuckle, stilling his hand, giving Steve his full attention. “Are you gonna ask me something or what?”

Steve twisted slightly, just enough to take the bottle out of his pocket and hold it out into the air between them, wordless. Billy looked down at it, like he was bored, or maybe confused, but made no move to take it, flicked his eyes back up towards Steve.

“I thought there was a question coming.”

“Oh. Yeah,” Steve said, blinking hard at him. “What is it?”

“Nail polish,” Billy said plainly, disinterested. Almost too disinterested.

“Nail polish?”

“Yeah,” he laughed. “You’ve heard of that stuff, right? Or do they not have it under the rock where you live?”

“That’s not what I meant,” Steve huffed, resisting the urge to smack his chest. “I know what it is.”

“I’m not totally understanding what your question is then.”

“I just don’t get it,” he deadpanned, voice totally blank.

Billy made a face.

“What’s there not to get?” he asked, wry, very matter of fact.

“Well, why you’d-why you gave it to me? Exactly?”

Billy shrugged, didn’t say anything for a long moment, like he was going to drop it, but there was something in the way he looked down at his cigarette that gave him away.

“I guess you wouldn’t,” he said, under his breath, more to himself than to Steve. “It was stupid anyway.”

Steve felt like his whole face was twisting. “What am I missing here?”

Billy shook his head, dismissive. “Nothin’.”

“Really? Because it sounds a lot like I’m missing something.”

“It’s whatever. Just forget it.”

He had still yet to look Steve in the eyes when he used his left hand to bring the cigarette back up to his lips for a drag.

Steve’s jaw nearly dropped when he spotted it.

The black nail polish on Billy’s ring finger.

“Wait.” He reached out to grab at Billy’s wrist before he could think better of it. “Is that-”

“Nope.” Billy balled his hand into a fist, hiding his nails against his palm.

“No, come on. Show me,” Steve pleaded, prying his hand open, eyes locking momentarily on the dark fingernail. “What did you-”

“It’s nothing.” Billy ripped his hand away, shoved it into his pocket. “I said it was stupid, alright? Leave it alone.”

And that’s when it clicked.

Steve didn’t even stop to think before he held his left hand out, pushed the bottle into Billy’s chest with the other.

“Do it.”

Billy’s eyes widened. “What?”

“Do it,” he repeated, nodding towards his hand. “Mine. You know. Like yours.”

Billy jaw tensed, like he was mulling the idea over in his head. When he spoke again, he was shaking his head. “I don’t know. It was just some dumb idea and I-”

“It’s not dumb,” Steve argued. “I want you to do it. Honest.”

Billy’s eyes flicked between, searching, tentative. Like he was waiting for Steve to tell him he was joking. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Billy still didn’t move though, hesitant, and so Steve wiggled his fingers. “Come on. My arm’s gonna fall off soon.”

“So fuckin’ dramatic,” he mumbled, finally shifting, throwing his cigarette onto the ground. “Anybody ever point that out before? How fuckin’ dramatic you are?”

“Once or twice,” he said, watching Billy shake the bottle in one hand and then unscrew the top with the other. “But you say it like you don’t like it.”

“I don’t like it,” he stated, pulling the brush out, wiping it against the rim of the bottle. “I like _you_. There’s a difference.” He set the bottle down on the hood of the car, next to his thigh. “Now hold still.”

Billy pinched his ring finger between the pads of his thumb and his forefinger, holding it steady.

Steve couldn’t bite back a smirk. “You proposing to me, Hargrove?”

Billy scoffed. “In your dreams, Harrington,” he replied, though his tone had perked in such a way that Steve could tell it wasn’t a _‘no’_ so much as a _‘not yet’._

He kept his mouth shut.

Billy’s eyes were focused, zeroed in as he brushed a smooth coat of polish over his nail, careful and delicate. The sensation was weird, cool, but also sort of nice, like nothing Steve had ever felt before. Billy waited a couple seconds before dipping the brush back into the bottle, wiping it against the rim, and going back over his nail, adding another coat, making it darker. Fuller.

Through all of this, Steve was torn between looking down at his hand and looking up at Billy. At the pinch of his eyebrows and the way his tongue had poked out of the corner of his mouth, concentrating hard. This whole thing felt so oddly intimate, standing here between Billy’s legs, holding his breath, under Billy’s complete control. It was also sort of nice to have Billy’s undivided attention on him, as if his attention was ever on anything _but_ Steve.

A few heartbeats later, satisfied, Billy dropped the brush back into the bottle.

“There.”

Steve made to pull away, to inspect his handiwork, but Billy’s grip tightened on his finger, pulling it in closer, in towards his face. Steve thought maybe he was doing it to get a better look, to make sure it hadn’t smudged, that he hadn’t accidentally missed a spot.

But instead, he brought it towards his mouth, slow, sure. Steve only had half a second to wonder what he was doing before Billy began to blow on it, a steady stream of cool air leaving his lips. Goosebumps prickled on Steve’s skin, heat rushing low in his stomach, as if the press of Billy against him hadn’t been enough to get his blood pumping on its own.

After a few long breaths, Billy dropped his hand with a smirk. “Now you’re done.”

Steve tilted his hand back, angled his wrist so that he could examine the single black nail amongst his others. Fascinated by how different it looked. Felt.

The air was thick between them, quiet. Billy shifted his weight a little, obviously growing restless in the silence.

“Having second thoughts already?” he asked, trying to joke even though Steve could hear something self-conscious in the question.

“No, I-I like it,” he admitted, surprising even himself. “I like it a lot actually.”

“You mean that?” Steve looked at him then, looked into his eyes, wide and maybe a little bit nervous. “Not just blowing smoke up my ass?”

“Definitely not.”

“Good.” Billy nodded slowly, eyes dropping to look somewhere on his chest, looping a nervous finger through one of his belt loops. “I guess I, I thought it would be, I don’t know. Nice? To have something? Just the two of us. Since we can’t really, well. You know. Or anything.”

“I get it,” Steve said, heart pretty much melting in his chest at the sight of Billy fumbling over his words. “And it is. Nice. Like, really nice.”

Billy’s lips were smiling when Steve pulled him in for a kiss again. Billy’s hands were framing his face this time, thumbs smoothing over the soft skin of his cheeks. He dug his heels into the back of Steve’s legs, made him press in closer, harder.

He brought a hand up with the intention of tangling it in Billy’s hair, wanting to bury his fingers in his curls, tug on them in that way that drove Billy a little crazy. But he stopped midway through raising it, thought better of the idea when he remembered that the polish on his nail probably hadn’t dried yet, not wanting to ruin it. He let his hand lie flat on Billy’s chest, right over his necklace, perfectly content to feel the strong heartbeat racing beneath his palm instead.

Now more than ever, Steve wished they weren’t out in the open, where anyone could drive up and ruin this. Although, he was pretty sure there wasn’t a single thing in the world that could happen to ruin this. Not a damn thing.

The rest of the night passed normally. Lots of Flirting. Teasing. Laughing. Kissing. Nothing too terribly out of the ordinary for them.

Every time Steve looked down and saw the shine of the dark polish on Billy’s finger, on his own, his heart would skip a beat. Skipped a beat again when they kissed goodnight and Billy brought Steve’s hand up to his mouth, pressing his lips to his ring finger.

After that, it became a kind of a comfort. Having that ring finger painted black. To be able to run the pad of his thumb over the smooth finish of it whenever he felt like he couldn’t breathe. To be able to touch it to his lips and know Billy’s had been there not too long ago. To be able to look at it and know that he and Billy were two parts of a matching set.

A few days later, when the polish had all but chipped off, Steve brought the little bottle back to the quarry, asked Billy to paint it again. He nodded and did so, echoing the first time, careful, slow, patient.

And when he was done with Steve’s, he redid his own.

Billy wanted them to have something, something they could call theirs. And through this, they could. They did. And the best part? Was that it went virtually unnoticed.

April meant basketball was long over, no more time spent surrounded by prying eyes in the gym or in the locker room. Meant finals were just around the corner, classrooms dark and attention focused forward on the notes plastered to the dim overhead in the front. 

The most Steve got was a raised eyebrow and a quick, “That what the preps are doing now?” from Jonathan in the library one day, with a nod towards his hand.

Steve had just laughed it off, saying, “Yeah, I saw it on MTV the other day. Thought, why the hell not?”

Jonathan didn’t really care enough to ask any more questions.

So it worked. Nobody ever put two and two together.

Well, that was, until Steve dropped Dustin and Lucas off at the arcade a few weeks later and Max came out to the car to meet them.

Steve rolled down his window as she hopped down the steps, offered her a smile and a wave. “Big Red.”

“Mother Goose,” she laughed, wincing when the boys slammed their doors shut. “Do you guys have to do it that hard?”

“Yeah,” Dustin said, like it was obvious.

Lucas nodded. “Steve’s car is like a million years old-”

“My car’s only four years old-”

“-so if we don’t slam them,” Lucas continued, “they’ll open when he’s in the middle of the road or something.”

She just raised an eyebrow and Steve couldn’t help but think about how much she looked like Billy when she did it. “Sure they will.”

“Shit,” Dustin said, looking in through window. “Somebody’s on Dig Dug.”

“No way.” Lucas whipped around to match his eye line.

“Yep. Three of them. 11 o’clock.”

“What about Gauntlet? Can you see it?”

“Taken.”

“Galaga?”

“You know,” Steve butted in, “it’s much easier if you, I don’t know, _go in there_ and see what games are open, right? Instead of standing here trying to figure it out,” he suggested, idly drumming his hands on the steering wheel, a little bit antsy to get moving knowing Billy was saving him a seat at the movies.

He didn’t notice that Max wasn’t looking in towards the window like the other two, that her gaze was locked onto his hand.

“Jesus, Mom. Fine,” Dustin said, making a face. “Pick up at nine?

“Nine.”

“Check, check.” Dustin turned to give him a lazy salute and started off towards the arcade.

Lucas followed close behind, calling “Later, Steve!” over his shoulder.

But Max hadn’t budged.

Steve looked up at her, offering a smile. “You okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. I just,” she paused, not quite meeting his eyes, face twisted like she was confused. “It’s weird. Billy does his like that, too.”

He followed her line of vision to the steering wheel. To his left hand. His ring finger, nail painted black.

His eyes went wide.

“Oh that?” He tried to hide his shock behind a laugh, nervous and slightly manic. “That’s, uh, yeah,” he stuttered. “All the guys from the team are doing it. Basketball. The basketball team. They’re all doing it. Some kind of bonding thing or something.”

She crossed her arms, weary. “Isn’t basketball over?”

“Well yeah, but uh, they wanted to get ahead for next year.”

“Get ahead for next year,” she repeated back slowly.

“Yep,” he nodded, enthusiastic. “Never too early to start with that team chemistry shit, right?”

Her eyes narrowed. “Aren’t you graduating?”

Steve swallowed hard. “Solidarity.” He tried his best to maintain that smile, keep it from becoming too pained, but he was going to crack if this conversation lasted any longer.

But she just hummed a condescending, “Uh huh,” sounding too suspicious for her own good.

And that’s when Lucas popped his head out the door, calling that there was one more game left inside and she dashed away, waving back at Steve through the window once she was inside. Steve waved back, heart beating so hard he thought it was going to burst out of his chest and kill him.

When he got to the movies and told Billy about the conversation with Max, Billy just waved it off, reassuring him that she didn’t know jack shit about them and that there was nothing to worry about. Steve wasn’t sure if he believed that or not, but didn’t feel much like arguing when the lights went down and Billy pulled his hand into his lap.

They had no idea that Max ditched snagging that last machine in favor of telling Lucas and Dustin what she’d seen.

Nor that she and Dustin now had some very interesting notes to compare.

Not a clue.


	5. Chapter 5

It wasn’t that Billy didn’t want to go to the Hawkins Spring Fair. Not exactly.

It was more that Steve, sweet, excitable Steve, hadn’t shut up about in weeks and Billy couldn’t muster up more than a bored hum whenever he’d start on about it.

He hadn’t opened his mouth about it, mostly just pretended to listen while Steve went on and on and on about how wonderful it was going to be.

But that only lasted until about late April, when they were sitting on the couch in the Harrington house, Steve’s head pillowed in his lap, hand tangled lazily in his hair as he thumbed through a magazine. Steve’s eyes were closed, an easy, content smile playing at his lips, all but melting into his touch.

“Can you believe there’s only three more weeks left until the Spring Fair?”

“Guess not.” Billy replied, disinterested, eyes still locked on the article he was trying to read. “I don’t really get what the big deal is, though. It sounds like a carnival.”

Steve’s eyes opened, looking up at him. “It’s not a carnival. It’s the Spring Fair.”

“So?”

“So that makes it different. There’s games and rides and food,” he rambled, defensive. “Plus it’s warm out and school’s almost over so everybody’s there and happy and hangin’ out.”

“And if you take all that flowery shit away, you get, oh I don’t know. A _carnival_.”

Steve just kept smiling, like he knew some kind of secret Billy didn’t and Billy wanted to wipe that look off his face. “Okay. Talk shit now, but it’s special. You’ll see when you get there.”

Billy raised an eyebrow. “When I get there?” Steve nodded. “Who said I was going?”

“Me.”

“That’s funny.” He dog-eared his page and closed the magazine, giving Steve his full attention. “I don’t remember you asking.”

Steve shot him a look. “I don’t remember you needing an invitation to follow me anywhere. Like ever.”

“And somehow that still doesn’t sound like you’re asking me.”

Steve paused to hold his eyes, earnest and sweet in that way that never failed to make butterflies spread in Billy’s stomach. When he spoke, his voice was low, charming in that way it got whenever he wanted anything.

“Billy, do you wanna go to the Spring Fair with me?”

Billy didn’t hesitate. “I don’t think so.”

“Shut the hell up.”

“Make me.”

At which point Steve sat up, climbed into his lap, and made him forget all about the stupid Spring Fair, about anything that wasn’t the taste of his lips or the press of his body.

And as if having Steve talk about it all the time wasn’t bad enough, the rest of those little parasites had gotten Max all riled up about it, too. She had been rambling about it one morning on their drive to school.

“It sounds just like the boardwalk, doesn’t it? Can you even believe that? Something like California all the way in Hawkins?”

At which point he grumbled, “About goddamn time,” eyes hidden behind dark aviators, trained ahead on the road.

She ignored him. “Do you think you’re gonna go?”

“Have to drive your ass, don’t I?”

“Yeah, but you should like, stick around. Hang out. Have fun.”

He laughed at that. “No offense, but spending the night babysitting you and your nerd friends isn’t exactly my idea of a good time.”

“Steve’s gonna be there.”

Now,_ that_ he hadn’t been expecting.

Billy clenched his jaw, tried to ignore the way his stomach tightened at hearing his name. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“I don’t know.” He could see her watching him out of the corner of his eye. “I thought you guys were friends or something.”

His hands tightened reflexively on the steering wheel, purposefully kept his eyes from falling to catch a glimpse of the black nail polish staining his ring finger. “He’s fine.”

“But what about-”

He reached out and turned the radio up before she could get the rest of her sentence out, put his foot down on the gas and took off down the road, suddenly much more eager to get to school than he had been thirty seconds ago.

She slumped back against her seat, crossed her arms over her chest, and pouted out the window for the rest of the drive. She jumped out of the car when he pulled up to the middle school, slammed her door, threw him a middle finger over her shoulder. He might’ve laughed if he wasn’t so overwhelmed with the relief that flooded his system the second she was gone.

He didn’t tell Steve about what she’d said when he found him at his locker a little while later. Just leaned his shoulder against the lockers, tilted his head attractively in Steve’s direction, smiled, flirted. Pushed down the vague anxiety gnawing at his insides.

The same anxiety that had mostly faded when May 25th hit and it actually came time for the Spring Fair. Morphed into something more like indifference.

Steve and the rest of the dorks were already waiting by the gate when he and Max pulled up, a tiny group in a sea of people trying to get in. Billy spied all the usual suspects. Even that girl was there, that quiet one Billy had never really met before, with a name like Ella or Ellie or something weird, holding onto Wheeler’s hand like her life depended on it. Max rushed over to them, all big smiles and boisterous laughs, filled to the brim with the kind of nervous excitement all kids feel on a day they’ve been waiting so long for.

Billy followed behind, slowly. Knots coiled in his stomach when he set eyes on Steve, standing there, looking hopeful and excited with that big, crooked smile pulling at his lips. Eyes locked on Billy like he wasn’t surrounded by six annoying teenagers or hundreds of other people.

Like they were the only two in the world.

When he was within earshot, Steve’s smile widened mischievously, calling out, “Am I dreaming or is that you, Hargrove?”

Billy couldn’t bite back a grin. “Yeah it’s me. Don’t cream your pants.”

Steve opened his mouth to keep going, but Dustin beat him to the chase.

“Yeah, yeah. Billy, we’re all sort of glad you’re here. Now can we _go_?” he asked, impatient. “The bracelets are gonna sell out before we even get on line.”

Billy could tell they’d been having this fight for a while in the way Steve sighed, “Alright, go then. Jesus,” motioning towards the ticket booth.

The kids took off while the two of them lagged a step behind. Billy felt Steve’s hand brush his as they walked, looked up at him, caught the smirk pulling at his lips. He felt his cheeks go a little warm, nudged Steve’s shoulder with his own, set his gaze back forward until they caught up with the rest of the brats on line.

The parasites all paid, using money that had either come from Steve or Billy, and stepped off to the side, helping each other hook the flimsy, paper bracelets around their wrists. When he was certain no one was looking, Billy seized his opportunity for a bold move, stepped forward before Steve could.

“I’ll take two bracelets,” he said, handing his money to the girl in the booth.

Steve elbowed him in the side, hissing, “What are you doing?” under his breath.

“What does it look like I’m doing?” The girl handed him the two bracelets and they walked a few steps to the side, over towards the kids. “Gimme your wrist.”

Steve was hesitant when he held his arm out, but Billy took his time in wrapping it around his wrist. “You didn’t have to do that.”

He fastened it, held it secure, and peeled back the sticky part, smoothed it out once he was done. “Wanted to.” He dropped Steve’s hand and held out the other bracelet along with his own arm. “Are you gonna get me, or what?”

Steve blinked hard when he reached out and started with it, rough fingertips sending a shock up his arm. “We’re doing this all backwards, you know.”

Billy felt his eyebrows lift. “I don’t think it matters what direction it goes on.”

“No, that’s-that’s not what I meant,” Steve chuckled. His voice was softer the next time he spoke, like he was aware of the teenage ears within range of their conversation. “Isn’t there some sort of rule that says I’m supposed to pay? Since I’m the one that asked you to come?”

“Oh fuck that,” he shot back, lowering his voice. “Nobody that shows up here looking like you do should be paying for their own shit. _That’s_ the rule.”

Steve laughed, bright and perfect in Billy’s ears, dropped his gaze, bashful and nervous like they hadn’t been on hundreds of dates before.

Billy couldn’t help but think about how much the look suited him.

When Steve looked up again, there was something in his eyes. Something soft. Like a question. Maybe a statement.

Billy had seen that look before. Had felt Steve’s eyes on him and lifted his head to catch them, doing homework, midway through a movie, watching the stars out at the quarry.

Now though, before Billy could ask him what it was all about, they were being yelled at to hurry the hell up by the monsters they’d been roped into babysitting.

And for all the boredom and aggravation Billy had been expecting, the next few hours really weren’t that bad. As much as he hated to admit it-and he probably never _would_ admit it-he was actually sort of having fun.

He got to watch Max drive around in a bumper car while Sinclair held on for dear life next to her. He got to watch Henderson scream his head off on the tilt-a-whirl, voice high-pitched and piercing like nothing Billy had ever heard before. Got to watch Byers drop that comically massive hammer on the scale and witness the way they all lost their minds when the bell dinged above his head. Got to watch that quiet girl’s eyes light up when Wheeler offered her cotton candy and she tried it for the first time. Got to watch Wheeler blow rest of his money buying her one new thing after the other.

He also got to sit next to Steve on the roller coaster and hold his hand when it dropped, Steve latching onto him with a grip that easily could’ve cut off his circulation. Got to watch Steve freak out when the Gravitron hit full speed and he flipped to lay upside down like all his friends would do back in California. Got to watch Steve get stuck midway through trying to copy him, plastered sideways to the wall like a bug on a windshield. Got to hear the dull thud of Steve walking into, what had to be, every single mirror in the fun house mirror maze, which made Billy laugh so hard his stomach hurt.

Got to teach Steve all of the tricks he knew when they went over to the games. Got to cover Steve’s hands with his own when he showed him how to aim the water gun perfectly every time. Got to hear Steve scream his name when he finally decided to play something and threw that stupid baseball, knocking down all of the bottles on the first go. Got to watch Steve’s cheeks go pink when he handed him the teddy bear he’d won, reaching right over the brats to give it to him.

He wished they could do more than that. Act like they were a real couple here on an actual date. Hold his hand while they waited in line for a ride. Wipe the ketchup off his lip when he missed his mouth. Sneak an arm around his waist as the walked through the never-ending line of games. Kiss him at the top of the Ferris wheel. All of that cheesy shit.

He’d settle for what they could do for now, for at least the two of them to know they were a real couple here on an actual date, but he could tell Steve was feeling the same way.

More than once throughout the night, he felt Steve’s eyes on him, watching him, head tilted like he was thinking about something. Thinking hard. Intense. That same look glazing his eyes that he’d had when he’d finished Billy’s bracelet earlier. Soft. Unsure.

Billy didn’t really know what to do with that, didn’t know what to make of it, mostly just ignored it. Maybe narrowed his eyes once or twice to pose a silent question, only to have Steve avert his eyes, shift his attention elsewhere.

But if whatever he was thinking about was really that important, he would spit it out at some point He always did. So, Billy tried not to think about it too much, just continued on trying to enjoy the night as best as he could. Trying to help Steve enjoy it as best as he could.

When they circled back around near the entrance, his watch telling him it was almost midnight, Billy hadn’t thought much of the photo booth. The kids’ eyes all collectively went wide when they saw it, however, and they took off sprinting. He watched as three of them piled in, Max, Sinclair, and Byers. Saw the flashes of the bulb as the camera went off behind the curtain, heard the mechanical clicks of their pictures printing out on the side, their excited giggles as they rushed out to see them. In next went Henderson, Wheeler, and the quiet one-El, Max had told him.

When they were done printing, Max had darted over to show him and Steve her pictures, yelling and pointing at the thin strip of paper, at some dumb face Byers had made, but Billy couldn’t focus on it. He was distracted, found himself looking up at Steve.

Could only focus on the odd expression twisting Steve’s face. Felt something pull in his chest at smile on Steve’s lips, too tight to be genuine, not quite reaching his eyes.

Heard the way his tone was clipped when he said, “Cute. Really cute,” short and to the point.

Billy didn’t have to think about it too hard to know what was happening here. To figure out what Steve wanted. A thin strip of pictures to call his own. A memory he could hold in his hands. Keep in his desk drawer. Take out whenever he needed a smile.

Steve was jealous. Billy couldn’t have that.

When the other group finished and came out to compare pictures, Billy elbowed Steve in the arm. “Come on.”

“Huh?” Steve turned to look at him, eyebrows pinched, obviously confused.

Billy nodded towards the photo booth. “It’s our turn, isn’t it?”

Steve eyed it, eyed the kids, who weren’t paying them any attention, flashed his gaze back to Billy. “You’re serious?”

“’Course I’m serious,” he stated, matter-of-fact, but Steve hadn’t budged. “Let’s go, pretty boy. While we’re still young.”

Steve laughed, shaking himself out of the momentary daze. “Yeah, yeah. Okay.”

And before he knew it, Steve was grabbing his hand and dragging him towards the empty booth, ignoring the confused sounds the kids made as they cut through them. Billy followed him in, pulled the dark curtain closed tight behind them.

Steve had already fed a dollar into the machine, was pushing all types of buttons in front of them. “What do you think? Black and white or color?

“I don’t care.” He took advantage of the sudden privacy by putting his hand on Steve’s thigh, strong and warm. “S’up to you.”

“I’ll do black and white. Color always comes out shitty.”

“Fine by me.” Billy used his thumb to rub easy circles onto his leg.

“Cool. Now we just gotta wait.” Steve sat back, flipped Billy’s hand over, threaded their fingers together. “I hope you haven’t been totally miserable here all night.”

“Not totally miserable.” His smile widened when he felt Steve squeeze his hand, angled his head to press a lingering kiss to Steve’s shoulder, whispering, “Better now that I got you all to myself though,” against it.

Something in Steve’s tone shifted at that, something that made him bite his lip, almost shy. “Good, I-that’s-that’s good. I’m glad,” he stuttered, soft, self-conscious. It made Billy sit back up so that he could see him.

And then there was that look again. Soft. Zeroed in. Like he was thinking. Hard.

Billy finally felt himself flinch a little. “You okay?”

Steve hesitated, like he was warring with something in his mind, but didn’t get the chance to speak before the machine began to beep.

Whether it was counting down from 3 or 5 or 10, Billy didn’t know. The sound made him look forward, waiting for the camera to go off, but next to him, Steve turned just slightly, leaned in, tipped his head, lips brushing Billy’s ear. Billy’s heart was pounding at the sudden proximity, mouth dry.

“I’m in love with you, you know.”

Billy’s jaw went slack.

_He’s in love with me._

_Click._

He pushed Steve back with a hand on his chest, just far enough to look at him, into those big brown eyes, their noses nearly touching. Billy’s eyes darted between his, searching, looking for some sign that Steve was fucking with him, that the universe was fucking with him. But Steve held his gaze and the truth crashed over him like a tidal wave.

_He’s serious._

_Click._

Billy’s hand went to the side of his neck, pulled him forward, crushed their lips together, overwhelmed and overjoyed, wondering if it was possible to pour all the emotions he didn’t know how to say out loud into something as simple as a kiss. Steve’s hand curled around his necklace, tugging on it, encouraging, keeping him close.

_He’s really in love with me._

_Click._

Billy pulled back, leaned their foreheads together, breaths shaking and shallow. Brushed his thumb over Steve’s cheek, cradled his jaw like he was something precious. Like if he ever let go, Steve might fall and crack and Billy would never be able to live with himself long enough to pick up the pieces.

His voice was quiet when he spoke, so foreign to his own ears that he wasn’t even sure Steve was going to hear it.

“Me too.”

But Steve’s lips turned up into a smile so radiant it rivaled the sun, so bright Billy knew it was going to be burned into his memory until the day he died.

_I’m in love with him, too._

_Click._

Billy wasn’t sure how long they sat there, staring into each others eyes, breathing each others air, perfectly oblivious, when they heard a loud knock on the outside of the booth.

“Did the two of you die in there?” It was Max’s voice that rang in their ears.

Dustin’s came next. “Steve? Did he kill you? I’ll kill him if he killed you.”

Just like that, the mood changed on a dime.

Because Billy could hear the sound of their pictures printing outside and panic spread like wildfire in his chest. He ripped the curtain open, shoved his way past the two of them, and stuffed one of the strips into his jacket pocket. He pushed the other into Steve’s hand, watched as he did the same with it.

His heart was still racing when they walked out the front gate and back towards their separate cars without a word. He looked back over his shoulder to find that Steve was already looking over his own, waiting to catch his eyes, smiling softly.

Knowing. Secretive. Happy.

Billy felt the corner of his lips twitch. Could still feel it shaping his lips when he climbed into the Camaro and sped away.

Over in the passenger seat, Max was buzzing, wired, but also sort of sleepy now that they were on their way home. She was rambling next to him, but he was only half paying attention to it, only picked up a few words here and there.

“Can you believe Will…God and El’s face when she…I thought Mike was gonna…Do you think Dustin actually…Sometimes Lucas is so…”

She droned on and on and on. He had half a mind to turn the radio up, but his ears perked when Steve’s name got thrown into the mix.

“...and I’m glad Steve was there. I get why Dustin goes on about him all the time. He’s kinda the best. How’d they come out, by the way?” He didn’t say anything, mostly unaware he’d even been asked a question. “Billy?”

“What?” 

“How’d they come out?”

“How’d what come out?” He asked, slow, not the slightest bit interested in being dragged into the conversation.

“You know, the pictures. Of you and Steve.”

He drummed absently on the steering wheel. “I don’t know. Didn’t look at ‘em.”

“Well, I wanna see.”

And before he could process what was happening she was reaching across the center console to pull the thin strip of pictures out of his pocket. She’d only flipped it and gotten it halfway to her face before Billy ripped it out of her hands.

“Hey! What the hell was that for?”

He stuffed them in his pocket, ignored the question. “Hands off my stuff, shitbird.”

“They’re just pictures, you asshole. You don’t have to freak out about it.”

“Yeah, well they’re mine.” Billy felt his face getting hot, tried to quell the anger he felt rising when he realized it wasn’t like she’d seen them. “So when I say hands off, that means hands off.”

“Whatever. I’ll just ask Steve to see them,” she huffed, under her breath. “Don’t know why someone like him would want to take pictures with you anyway.”

_Neither do I_, was what he thought.

“Fuck you,” was what he said.

The car was silent for the last few minutes it took to get to the house. Max hadn’t even made it into the house before Billy was slamming the door to his bedroom.

He intended on going right to his closet, to that shoebox he had hidden in the corner, on stashing those pictures away as quickly as he could. But he couldn’t really help himself. He hesitated. Walked over to the lamp in the corner, pulled the thin strip of paper out of his pocket and let the light wash over it.

His eyes raked carefully over each of the pictures.

Steve’s lips pressed to his ear and his mouth, open wide.

_He’s in love with me._

The brush of their noses and the intensity in their eyes.

_He’s serious._

The press of their lips and the curl of Steve’s hand around his necklace.

_He’s really in love with me._

The black nail polish on his finger where he cradled Steve’s face in his hands and the wide smile gracing Steve’s lips.

_I’m in love with him, too._

He ran his thumb over the last one, over Steve’s smile.

He wondered what Steve was doing now. If he could make it out the window and back out the driveway without someone hearing him.

But somewhere in the hallway, the floor creaked.

He ran to his closet, stuffed the pictures haphazardly into the shoebox, pushed it back into the corner, and pulled the door closed. He stripped down to his boxers as quickly as he could and got into bed, settled on his back and closed his eyes.

He fell asleep with Steve’s smile shining bright behind his eyelids, voice echoing in his ears.

_I’m in love with you, you know._

Over and over and over. Almost like a lullaby.

Max, on the other hand, was wide awake.

Over in the next room, she clutched her walkie-talkie to her chest, volume turned down, voice a low hush.

“Lucas? Lucas, do you copy? It’s me. Over.”

It was only quiet for a second before the other end crackled to life.

“Yeah, I copy. What’s up? Over.”

“I’ve got more proof. Over.”

“What? How? Over.”

She pulled her blankets up over her head, tried to muffle her voice even further, hoped it would diffuse more of the sound.

And once she was comfortable, she readied herself with a deep breath and began. “I saw their photo booth pictures. You’re never gonna believe it…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted to say a quick thanks to everybody that's given this kudos and comments and all that jazz. I appreciate it all so much and I'm real glad to know that you're liking it so far!
> 
> One more to go now y'all 
> 
> Come find me on tumblr @holdenduckfield


	6. Chapter 6

+1.

Steve didn’t know how he got himself into hosting a movie night at his house. Truly.

The last time he'd checked, they were supposed to be going to Mike’s. Or maybe that was last week. Maybe this week was Dustin’s. Or Will’s. Not like it mattered. He’d been racking his brain for a time he’d invited them or maybe a time that he’d let it slip that he had the house to himself.

Which, you know, he had intended on taking full advantage of in a completely different way. The _Billy’s coming over_ way.

Normally Billy would’ve been over earlier, sometime in the morning when he could safely assume Steve would be awake, but today was the day he had to go for his lifeguard certification. The moment he’d told him he was applying for a summer job at the pool, Steve fell in love with the idea, with Billy being as close to his natural habitat as he was ever going to get in Hawkins.

Not to mention that the thought of him sitting up on a lifeguard stand all day, sunkissed and gorgeous, was one that kept Steve awfully warm on these cool spring nights.

So the tentative plan was that he’d be coming over after all of that was done, to hang out, fool around, stay the night. Their usual. Steve wouldn’t say he was counting down the hours per say, but he was pretty much counting down the hours, the quiet house his own personal brand of Purgatory.

At this point, he was sure he’d gone through every channel on the TV at least a dozen times, through the entire pantry at least half as many. Cleaned his room. Did the dishes. Blasted David Bowie’s entire 'Let’s Dance' record twice and danced around in his socks using a broom handle as a microphone.

Hours later, he was on, what had to be, his thousandth round of channel surfing when a thunderous knock on the door echoed through the house, so loud and sudden that Steve wasn’t convinced it hadn’t shook the floor. His eyes darted over to the wall clock, telling him it was around 6:30, which only meant it was probably too early for Billy to be on the other side just yet.

He didn’t have to wonder long about who he’d find waiting out there, though. Since they were all shushing each other just behind the door.

_“Dustin, move! You’re stepping on my foot!”_

_“I wouldn’t be stepping on your foot if you just backed up!”_

_“Will you two can it? He’s gonna hear us.”_

_“Don’t be dumb. He has no idea.”_

_“Yeah, no clue. He’s gonna freak.”_

_“I can’t wait to see the look on his face when we surprise him.”_

_“Say that any louder and we won’t be surprising anyone.”_

_“I’m literally whispering.”_

_“Yeah? Is that why the neighbors just looked out the window?”_

Steve opened the door with an abrupt jerk and the six pairs of eyes staring back at him went wide, gasping before they shouted out, “Surprise!” so loud that he winced.

He rested his hip on one side of the doorframe, held onto the other, blocking their way in, unamused. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“Nothing,” Dustin said with a smile, gesturing past him. “You busy?”

“Uh,” he frowned, looking back behind him, shifting his weight awkwardly on his feet, tightening his grip. “No.”

“Perfect.”

Dustin ducked beneath his arm to get into the house and they all followed one by one, each throwing him a smile as they passed.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, wait a second! What are you doing?”

“It’s movie night, dumbass,” Dustin called from what could only be the living room. “What do you think we’re doing?”

“I don’t-”

He let the words fall into the open air, realizing suddenly that he was alone, left to stare dumbly at the pavement, too shocked to even move. He blinked hard at the ground, brought himself to terms with what was happening here, closing the door with a solid slam.

When he rounded the corner, they were already in the process of making themselves comfortable all over the couch and the floor.

“Hey, no way, dipshits. Outta my house.”

“Why?” Mike asked, plopping down next to El.

“There’s an easy answer to that and it’s, ‘_Because I said so_’.” Steve planted himself right in the way of the TV, hands on his hips, back lit by the paused opening credits of whatever Dustin had managed to put in the VCR.

“But it’s not like you’re doing anything.”

“Yeah not _now_. But I got plans later so it’d be really great if you could all get lost.”

“Plans, huh?” Lucas chimed in, blatantly ignoring the second half the sentence. “What kind of plans?”

“Uh, the kind that are none of your business?” he scoffed.

“With who?”

“Nobody.”

“How are they plans if they’re with nobody?”

“Because I said so,” Steve repeated, crossing his arms over his chest.

“That’s cute,” Dustin said, patronizing. “But seriously. When’s he coming over?”

“Wha-what?” Steve’s heart leapt into his throat, suddenly too aware of the way they were all watching him.

“It’s a simple question, Steve. When’s he coming over?”

He swallowed hard, hoping it would help keep his voice even when he mustered up the courage to ask, “He?”

“Yeah. _He_.” And then Dustin grinned at him in that way only Dustin could, which instantly made him nervous. “_Billy_.”

Steve’s jaw fell, but he tried to cover it with a laugh despite the massive wave of nausea threatening to wash over him. “Come on. That’s ridiculous.”

“Is it? Is it ridiculous?”

“_Yeah_.” Steve put a special emphasis on the word, said it like it should’ve been obvious, but Dustin’s expression didn’t waver.

“Okay, it might be, but it also doesn’t exactly sound like you’re denying it.”

“Because there’s nothing to deny,” he stated. “He’s-we’re not-”

“Not what? Friends?” It was Max that asked that one, a knowing smile on her lips.

“Exactly. Billy’s-we’re not even in the _ballpark_ of being friends.”

“I don’t know,” Lucas said in a singsong voice, teasing. “You guys seem awfully friendly whenever you hang out around us.”

“That’s not friendly,” Steve argued, too defensive for his own good. “That’s civil. There’s a difference.”

“I don’t know, man. I don’t usually smile that much around people I’m civil with.”

“Would you rather we went back to trying to beat the shit out of each other?” he deadpanned, hoping it would squash wherever it is this was going, but of course it didn’t.

“No, but it’s just weird if you ask me.”

El popped in a, “Yeah, really weird."

“Totally weird,” Will added.

“And I think all of you are being weird,” Steve butted in, patience thinning. “So can someone just tell me what the hell it is I’m missing here?”

“Okay, look. We all may be a little old fashioned when it comes to this kind of thing so just bear with me,” Max started. “But we happen to think it’s perfectly normal to be friends with the person you’re dating.”

“Date-dating?” he sputtered, the air rushing from his lungs like he’d been kicked. “Who said anything about-”

“Steve.” There was a playful glint in her eye and the pit in his stomach dropped impossibly lower. “You may be a good babysitter, but you’re a horrible liar. Don’t try.”

“And we’re cool with it,” Dustin said. “Well, mad that you’re a lying piece of shit, but cool with it.”

He opened his mouth to reply, but the words caught in his throat and nothing came out. It just hung there, useless as he looked at all of them, silently trying to hide their smiles as he tried to process what they were saying.

And then, just when Steve thought he couldn’t want the ground to open up beneath his feet any more, the front door swung open.

He’d never seen so many pairs of eyes light up at the exact same time.

“Don’t freak out, pretty boy, it’s just me,” Billy called, tired voice echoing in the near deafening silence, getting louder as he drew nearer with each thudding footstep, though not quite as loud as the way Steve’s heart was racing in his chest. “You left the front door wide open, which was really fuckin’ dumb considering you’re-” he stopped dead in his tracks when he came through the doorway and spotted them, “-home alone.”

Billy went dangerously still. Looked like a deer in headlights as he took in the sight of them, spread out across the living room, staring at him with those blinding, dopey grins. His eyes darted up to meet Steve’s across the room in a silent question.

Steve shook his head, unable to push down a smile of his own at the bemused expression on his face.

Billy didn’t say anything, just eyed the kids again.

“Parasites. I, uh-”

“Have you seen _The Thing_?” Dustin asked, abrupt, entirely too casual in the thick tension.

Billy flinched, eyebrows raising. “Have I _what_?”

“Seen _The Thing_?” He repeated, like it was obvious. “You know. John Carpenter. Antarctica. Scientists. Aliens.”

“No?”

“Perfect. Sit down.”

“I’m not staying,” Billy said, quick, pointing back over his shoulder. “I just had to drop off a-”

“It’ll be fun if you do. Stay.” His eyes shot over towards Max, lips pursed tight. “And it’s a really good movie. One you might actually like.”

Billy looked up at Steve again, looking weary and slightly suspicions of this whole thing. “That okay with you?” he asked, which made all of the kids laugh, subsequently deepening Billy’s frown. “Somebody wanna tell me what the fuck’s so funny?”

Steve had to suppress a laugh himself at this point. “Don’t ask. Just sit.”

Billy hesitated for a long second, but ultimately walked further into the room. Somebody coughed a, “_Whipped_,” into their hand as he passed by, Steve guessed it was Mike, and they all fell into another fit of hysterical giggles. If Billy heard it, he ignored it, flopping down on the empty section of the couch, leaving a big, open space between him and the kids, arm stretched long across the back of the couch.

Steve turned, hit play on the VCR and the screen crackled to life with the opening credits, dark and ominous. The music from the movie was already loud, but he turned it up another few clicks for good measure. Before he found his way to the couch, he went over to the corner to flip off the light, figured it would be easier to be in the middle of them and Billy with the room blanketed in darkness rather than in the light, like they were on display.

He braced his hand on Billy’s knee, let it slide up along the hard line of his thigh as he lowered himself next to him, felt the strong muscle tense beneath his palm, kept it there long after he’d sat back. It wasn’t unusual for them to sneak a touch or two whenever they could, almost like a game at this point, but something in the back of Steve’s head reminded him they didn’t exactly have to play the game anymore, not here at least, and it made him feel sort of dizzy. In a good way.

Now it was just a matter of letting Billy in on it, too.

Billy, who’d turned his head, duckling slightly, forehead nearly touching Steve’s, who’d turned to mirror him once he noticed.

“What kind of cult meeting did I just walk in on?” he whispered, the words tickling at Steve’s cheeks.

Steve replied, “I don’t think it was a cult meeting so much as an interrogation,” voice low, nearly drowned out by the TV.

“The fuck does that mean?”

“There’s a long answer I’ll give you later.”

“And a short one you’ll give me now.”

“Alright, well, basically?” He held his breath, readying himself for the reaction destined to follow his next few words. “They know.”

Steve watched his brows knit, almost like a flinch. “Know?”

“Yeah. About us.”

Billy went quiet then, deep in thought, obviously considering those words, careful. His eyes dipped down to watch Steve’s mouth. “How?”

“No idea.”

“And they’re?” Billy gestured with his head towards them, never taking his eyes off Steve. “You know.”

“Okay with it? Apparently.”

Steve couldn’t read the look in his eyes, distant, glassy, like he was lost in his thoughts again.

“You really think?” he asked.

Steve’s shoulders lifted in a jerky, half shrug. “Said they were.”

He nodded, blinking the look away in favor of something new, something that pulled mischievously at the corners of his lips.

“So they wouldn’t mind if I did this?” He moved his arm off the back of the couch, settled it comfortably around Steve’s shoulders.

Steve bit the inside of his cheek to hide a grin, insides prickling with a pleasant warmth. “I don’t think so.”

“And this?” Billy tugged him closer, snug into his side, began to trail a finger over his bicep through the thin material of his t-shirt.

“Probably safe,” he said, curling into the embrace, welcome and familiar.

Billy stilled after that. Steve turned his attention to the movie, figuring that was it, that was as far as they’d be pushing their limits for now, but his breath caught when Billy inched forward, breath hot in his ear.

“How about this?”

He lifted his free hand to hook his forefinger under Steve’s chin, tilt his head back, angle to kiss him. It was little more than an easy brush of lips, tentative, unhurried, but so tender and intimate that it took Steve’s breath away.

A conveniently placed quiet spot in the movie allowed for them to hear Max sigh a dramatic, “Gross,” from just down the couch.

Billy stopped just long enough to mumble, “I don’t care,” against his lips, loud enough to be sure that they would hear it.

Steve broke away with a laugh, resting his temple against Billy’s cheek. “Asshole.”

“You like it.” Billy’s voice went low again, just loud enough for Steve to hear, sending something electric up his spine.

“Yeah.” Steve felt his smile grow bashful, felt something pull in his chest as he swallowed hard. “Yeah, I do.”

“Good.”

When he caught his breath, he slumped back against his side, smiled when Billy’s arm tightened around his shoulders, keeping him close.

He looked around them, at the kids, faces illuminated by the screen, comfortable and completely transfixed by the movie. Felt Billy press a sound kiss to the top of his head before resting his cheek against his hair.

Steve had no idea how he’d gotten here, how he’d found himself in this situation, but he was thankful. Relieved, confused, but mostly thankful.

He could get used to this.

He could _definitely_ get used to this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanna give another big thanks to everybody that's been reading and commenting and giving kudos and all that. I've had a ton of fun writing this soft nonsense and knowing you've liked it has really just been so stinking nice. I appreciate y'all a whole lot
> 
> I've got another idea that I wanna start on (hopefully) soon, so stay on the lookout!!
> 
> And as always, i'm over on tumblr @holdenduckfield


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